Kingdom Come
by Salazarfalcon
Summary: This is a story about family, about love, about friendship. This is also a story about older brothers, about live-in uncles, about sisters who spend too much time on Tumblr taking pictures of her lattes, about best friends/life partners. This is a story about Aragorn who is sometimes so happy that he's adopted.


Kingdom Come

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Disclaimer: *laughs forever and flies into the sun* No.

* * *

Summary: This is a story about family, about love, about friendship. This is also a story about older brothers, about live-in uncles, about sisters who spend too much time on Tumblr taking pictures of her lattes, about best friends/life partners. This is a story about Aragorn who is sometimes so happy that he's adopted.

* * *

AN: So. I never thought I'd be doing this but this is me writing for _Lord of the Rings_. Not only is this me writing _Lord of the Rings_ fanfic, but I'm writing a modern-day AU told in a series of flashbacks and memories.

Flee, mortals. Flee in terror.

No, seriously, though. Please read this.

* * *

Chapter One: Birds of a Feather

* * *

The thing is, most everyone in Aragorn's family is an asshole.

The twins are definitely assholes, Arwen's no shining beacon of serenity herself, and Uncle Glorifindel…well. If the twins are assholes, then Glorfindel is their king. Even Legolas (irritating, know-it-all Legolas that Aragorn's been friends with since they were practically fetuses) is no slouch at dicking him over with a smile on his face.

In fact, the only person in Aragorn's family who isn't a douche is his father, and that's being generous.

Okay, so Aragorn's not actually _related_ to anyone he considers his family, but that's alright. It's always been convenient for all those pubescent moments where all he wanted to do was lift his face to the sky and pray to be adopted. And lo, Aragorn was adopted.

Aragorn considers this, his pen in hand, and stares at the notebook open in front of him on his desk. A very blank, very intimidating notebook that is going to count for forty-five percent of his creative writing grade. Hell. What kind of park ranger has to take a creative writing class, anyway? What kind of person even decides that they want to be a park ranger, anyway?

A crazy person, that kind. A crazy person named Aragorn.

Still, the only place to start a story is at the beginning, right? That's what Dad always says, anyway.

He uncaps his pen and chews on the cap, and takes his father's advice.

_When I was little, I used to be sad about being adopted. That lasted about until I was twelve and I realized that Elladan and Elrohir were right when they said I'd thank them later…_

* * *

"Dad!"

Elrond doesn't look up when the shout rips through the screen door from the backyard, just adjusts his glasses and taps his pen on the dining room table.

"Boys, be nice to your brother," he says warningly to the air. He doesn't even have to raise his voice; he knows that the twins at least will hear him and react accordingly. That doesn't mean, of course, that they'll cease their teasing (because asking them to do that is like asking them to not breathe and Aragorn is already fully capable of dishing out his own, four-year-old vengeance) but maybe they'll do it a little more quietly and not convince the neighborhood watch that they're all being murdered.

It's a long shot, but he'll take it.

There's blissful quiet for maybe about two minutes and then the door slams open. The screen door rattles a little on its hinges and Elrond looks up just in time to catch a lapful of upset child. Aragorn's cheeks are flushed with exertion and his tennis shoes are about to come untied even though they were double-knotted that morning. Those are all signs of normal Aragorn play but his eyes brimming with tears are not and Elrond adjusts him to sit properly on his knees.

"Now what's all this?" he asks and kisses his paperwork goodbye.

"Daddy, Elrohir told me I was born with a tail!" Aragorn exclaims, and it's everything Elrond has to not snort a little bit, because it might be funny to him but clearly it's no joke to his adopted son. Tails are a very serious matter of contention in this house, as of approximately thirty seconds ago if he knows his twins.

"Oh?" he says blandly, "Now, why would he say something like that?"

"He said it was gross and hairy!"

Elrond tsks and runs a hand through Aragorn's hair in a futile attempt to put it into some semblance of order. It doesn't work but it's the sentiment that counts, he hopes. How to handle this? There's no point in trying to tell him that Elrohir was lying; he'll just get more upset over that and will inevitable dissolve into a full-on tear fest.

"I'll be having words with that boy," he pretends to mutter and makes an exaggerated expression of annoyance, "He wasn't supposed to tell you." Aragorn's eyes go wide and watery, and his lip trembles.

"Y-you mean I _did_ have a tail? He was _right_?"

Elrond doesn't hold back the upward tilt of his lips and gives a little sideways shrug.

"We didn't want them to tell you. They were both so jealous when they found out that they didn't have one. Tails are very special, you know." Aragorn frowns and crosses his little arms over his chest, pouting now.

"Why don't I still have one, then?"

Elrond's half-smile becomes a full one and he taps a fingertip to Aragorn's pert nose.

"You kept hanging off of the ceiling fans and we couldn't get you down. Uncle Glorfindel had to get the ladder and a broom." Elrond waggles his eyebrows and is rewarded with a startled giggle from Aragorn. "I'm serious! We almost had to scoop you with the butterfly net."

"Nu-uh."

"Yeah-huh," Elrond parrots right back at him.

"Nu-uh!" Aragorn sticks his tongue out and wriggles off of his father's lap, only to present him with his untied shoe. "Tie, please!" Elrond raises a single brow and narrows his eyes.

"Excuse me? Is that what we say when we want something?" Aragorn at least has the grace to look contrite and shifts on the balls of his feet.

"Can you tie my shoe for me, please?" he amends and Elrond leans down to deftly tie the laces snug and tight again in a double knot. "Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, Aragorn." Elrond ruffles his hair and gives him a light push toward the still open door. "Now go unleash hell upon your brothers."

* * *

"What's that?"

Aragorn doesn't turn around, just shoves at the weight that's just been dropped onto his shoulders in the form of one extremely annoying older brother.

"Get off me," he grumbles, "It's just a project."

Elrohir snickers and leans forward to read even as Aragorn circles his arms around his notebook to keep it hidden.

"Nice project. You can't hide it from me, not when I see my name~"

"Go away, I'm _working_." In contrast to his wishes, Elrohir somehow makes himself heavier and Aragorn considers the merits of sending an elbow into his gut. For approximately twenty seconds, the two of them are at a stalemate until, quick as a flash, Elrohir lashes out a hand and swipes the notebook off of Aragorn's desk and makes his getaway out the door and slinging down the banister. Aragorn scrambles out of his chair. "Give that back!"

"Not a chance!" Elrohir calls back, already down the stairs and in the other room, and Aragorn takes them three at a time.

"Come on, give it back!"

"Oh, I almost forgot about when we told you that you had a tail! It was adorable, you went around bragging about it for weeks afterwards," Elrohir teases, pointedly scanning the papers in his hands, and Aragorn's cheeks heat up.

"I hate you," he declares heatedly, "More than I hated Legolas' dad the first time I met him!" There's no point in trying to rip it out of his brother's hands, not when it's already in his clutches and half-read as it is.

Elrohir makes a hissing sound between his teeth, finishes reading, and throws the notebook back.

"In your defense, you still hate Legolas' dad," he comments.

"This is true," Aragorn can't help but agree, "But no one hates quite like a four year old."

_I first met Legolas when I was four years old…this is the story of how someone who would barely say two words to me became the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met._

* * *

"Everyone, we have a new friend joining us here today," Miss Lindsay chirrups, and Aragorn stares right along with the rest of his peers when she reaches out and tugs a little boy out from where he's hiding behind her knees. He's tall for his age but curled in on himself like he doesn't want to be there, and his blonde hair is tied back in a neat little fishtail. He stares at the ground and doesn't look up, not even when he's introduced as Legolas Greenleaf. "Go on and pick a station to play in, we'll be going outside in about fifteen minutes." Legolas mumbles something softly and Miss Lindsay leans down to hear. "What was that, sweetie?"

"I don't know where to go."

"Why don't you go in blocks and play with Aragorn? He's making a nice tower that I think he can use some help with."

Aragorn looks up from where he's building a fortress around himself (a _fortress_, not a tower, there's a difference). He doesn't really need help but he waves his hand and smiles anyway, and it takes a couple of pushes on his shoulders before Legolas trudges over and plops down on the mat. Aragorn waves again.

"Hi," he says, "I'm Aragorn."

Legolas gives an anxious little tug on his sleeve and doesn't look up even when Aragorn gets out of his fortress and tugs another bucket of blocks over.

"Can't you talk?" he asks, "My daddy says you should say hi to people when you meet them."

This time Legolas manages to drag his gaze off the floor and meet Aragorn's eyes.

"…hi."

"Hi," Aragorn repeats for a second time and starts digging through the bucket of wooden blocks, "Now we're friends! Here!" He finds what he's looking for and hands Legolas a block shaped like an arch. "The bad guys are gonna get in on that side and eat the princess." Aragorn clambers back inside his fortress and gets back to work, and Legolas stares at the block in his hands for a few seconds before making the silent decision to dismantle Aragorn's perfectly acceptable wall and replace it with one of his own making, complete with turrets and a few plastic horses in the windows.

"There," he says eventually, "Now the princess will be safe."

Aragorn holds his hand out for a high five, and Legolas stares warily at it until he starts wiggling his fingers, and the touch is little more than a brush of palms and then suddenly, the blocks are coming down around them.

"Billy!" Aragorn screeches, forgetting the lessons about using his inside voice immediately, "You broke it!" Billy kicks at the blocks scattered around his ankles and tosses his head.

"It looked stupid anyway."

"Did not!" Aragorn protests and cuts off what he was going to say next as Legolas gets to his feet and approaches, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks mad, and his eyebrows are furrowed even though he also looks seconds away from crying.

"That's not nice. Say you're sorry!" He loudly demands with a glare, and a hush falls over the entire classroom. Miss Lindsay gets up from across the room and starts walking over, and Legolas repeats his order.

"No!"

"You're _mean_!" He does kind of start crying a little then but Aragorn thinks it's more because he's angry, "A-and stupid!"

He looks up when a hand drops to his shoulder. Miss Lindsay is between them and kneeling down on the floor, and she pulls Billy over to look at her.

"No one here is stupid, Legolas," she says, "That's not a very good thing to say about our friends." Legolas glares mutinously like the idea of being friends with Billy is about the grossest thing he can think of but keeps his mouth shut. Aragorn seconds the sentiment. "Billy, knocking over their blocks wasn't a very good thing to do either. How would you like it if Aragorn and Legolas came and knocked over what you were working on?" Billy mumbles something in reply. "What do we say when we hurt people's feelings?"

"…sorry," he finally mutters not a small touch resentfully.

"Good. Why don't you go over to table toys and make something over there? We'll go out soon."

The dull roar starts up again as the excitement of someone else getting in trouble fades away, and Legolas turns back to Aragorn and their crumbled fortress.

"Thanks," Aragorn tells him, and for the first time, Legolas' lips tilt up in a shy smile. He doesn't reply so much as he settles back down on the floor and begins gathering up the blocks that were toppled.

"Let's fix it," he says, "Otherwise the princess is gonna get eaten, right?"

Aragorn beams.

"Right!"

When they go outside and they have to pick their walking buddy, Aragorn instantly reaches out and grabs Legolas by the hand.

Legolas is covered in sand and in the process of turning Aragorn into a sand lizard that comes out of the beach and eats people when his father comes to pick him up.

"Hi, daddy!"

Legolas waves up at his father and beams, a far cry from the nervous little scrap of boyhood that he was earlier that day.

"I like this school, can I come back tomorrow? This is Aragorn, he's my friend and I'm making him a sand lizard. He's going to eat the tourists that you yell at on the way to the grocery store! That way you won't have to yell at them all the time. Can we get ice cream on the way home?"

Thranduil blinks and absently brushes some of the sand out of Legolas' hair and the once-neat braid that's currently coming undone.

"I think you may have had enough sugar for one day," he says and spares a vaguely concerned look at Aragorn, who's dumping the sand out of his tennis shoes out of eyeshot of Miss Lindsay like he's some sort of contagious beetle.

"We should get ice cream," Legolas repeats insistently and tugs a little on his father's pants. Thranduil untangles his sandy fingers and dusts his hands off.

"Hey, Mr. Legolas," Aragorn says when it doesn't look like his daddy knows quite what to say to that that isn't anything like no, "Ice cream's awesome. I'm gonna ask my daddy if we can get ice cream when he gets here."

"Yeah, it's awesome!" Legolas chirps with a grin, only to have it slip off of his face moments later when his father raises a stern hand.

"Enough," he snaps, "I'll not be badgered. Dust yourself off, Legolas, and get ready to go. I don't want sand in my car, do you understand?" Legolas' face falls further but he obeys, scrambling out of the sand and brushing himself off with the look of someone quite used to it. Aragorn meets Thranduil's eyes and tries not to glare, suddenly wishing for the first time that his daddy might come early to get him.

"Bye, Aragorn," Legolas says with a wave, subdued, as he's steered by the shoulder off the playground and through the doors of the classroom, leaving Aragorn alone to be a sand lizard by himself. Or not, Aragorn decides. It's not fair to play without him just because he has to go home, and he grabs the free swing that Lily vacates instead.

He swings until he hears his name called, looks over to see Elrond standing underneath the overhang, and leaps off the swing much to Miss Lindsay's consternation and his father's amusement.

"Daddy!" he shrieks and barrels towards him. Elrond sinks to the ground and opens his arms to catch him, hoisting him up.

"Hello," he says, "Have a good day?" Aragorn nods and fingers the collar of Elrond's shirt. "That doesn't sound like a good day to me."

"It was good," Aragorn replies eventually, "I made a new friend but his daddy isn't very nice. You should go beat him up." Elrond looks down, raises an eyebrow, and looks like he's seriously considering the merits of another 'I'm your father, not your personal hitman' discussion in the car. Instead, he glances over to where Miss Lindsay is standing off to the side and fiddling with the hem of the apron she wears. At his pointed look, she grimaces.

"Mr. Greenleaf isn't exactly the most accommodating parent I've ever worked with, but…" she finally answers, and then everything makes sense.

"Thranduil had a kid?" he asks, surprised, and turns his attention back to his son, who's pouting in full force.

"Mr. Legolas was _mean_," he insists with his lips downturned.

"Aragorn, that's not a very nice thing to say." Thranduil's always been a serious man to the point of being a killjoy and he's never been on particularly good terms with Elrond, but Elrond's pretty sure that he doesn't need to actually be worried. Not since Lindsay, who's protective of her students with the ferocity of a mother bear merely looks considering and slightly uncomfortable, not angry.

"I'm afraid he didn't make a particularly good impression on Aragorn," she says, "But I don't think there's any need to worry."

And that's all Elrond needs, he decides, even though he won't forget it.

* * *

"Then there was the time that Dad pretty much stole Legolas."

Aragorn blinks and Elrohir looks up at him from where he's flopped on the couch in the exact position that he's been scolded for for years.

"I don't remember that at all," he says.

"You probably wouldn't," Elrohir says with a flippant flap of his hand and props himself up on his elbows, "You were a bitty thing and the only reason I know is because Elladan and I weren't even supposed to be there, and Thranduil was late…"

* * *

"I'm sorry I'm late, Aragorn," Elrond says when he enters the classroom, his twins on his heels. He expects for his young son to be alone and playing by himself or with Miss Lindsay but he's surprised when he sees Aragorn and a tall little boy together in the block corner.

Aragorn looks up.

"Daddy!" he exclaims and scrambles to his feet, darting forward to fling his arms around Elrond's neck. "You didn't forget me!"

"Of course I didn't forget you," Elrond says, "I called your teacher and told her that I would be late. I know for a fact that she told you." Aragorn scuffs his foot on the floor and backs off a little bit, looking away.

"Legolas' daddy forgot him," he mutters quietly in what's almost a whisper and rejoins his friend who must be Legolas, Thranduil's boy. Thranduil's boy who's very steadfastly not looking at any of them, whose fingers are white-knuckled around the block he's holding. He looks the very picture of anxiety, a too-adult expression on a too-young face, and Elrond holds back the father in him that demands he go over there and make things better.

"Maybe you should go back over there and try to cheer him up," Elrond suggests gently and Aragorn goes, concerned and bristling in a way that will do him much good later in life. That done, he turns to Elladan and Elrohir. "Find something to do, please. We'll be going soon. I just need to speak to Aragorn's teacher for a moment."

The two older boys nod in sync and approach the younger ones in the block area; it's easy enough to see that they're half-listening intently to everything that's going on.

"Did he really…?" he turns to Lindsay and wishes that he wasn't so curious about the whole thing. She shrugs uncomfortably.

"I don't know. I can only assume…well, he didn't call the school." She glances towards the boys and then back to Elrond. "I tried calling him but no one answered. It's already dark out, too." She's right; the sky's already going an inky black. He felt bad enough that he needed to call in late to pick up Aragorn; what was Thranduil thinking? No one should just be left and he knows full well that as young as they are, they're both certainly old enough to worry.

His heart twists a little.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Protocol says that if he doesn't arrive by seven, I have to call in child services. It's a half hour 'til then. I feel so bad," she murmurs, "He's so worried. Shy as it is and now this…" she suddenly seems to realize what she's saying and backpedals sharply, wide-eyed. "But that's nothing I should be talking about! I'll stay here and figure it out; it's late and you should go on ahead and take Aragorn home."

"Actually," Elrond says, "I think Aragorn would like to stay and I'm rather inclined to let him. The youngest children tend to get what they want, do you think?" This was patently untrue and they both knew it but it makes Lindsay smile and it's an upgrade. That said, he sidles over to the cluster of boys playing with blocks and settles down on the rug alongside them. His two oldest pay him no attention and Aragorn's focused on balancing the arch on top of a triangle but he finds himself being instantly scrutinized by a pair of solemn grey eyes. "You must be Legolas. Aragorn talks about you all the time."

Legolas doesn't reply but something that wound him tight uncurls and after some deliberation, he sticks out a small hand.

"Hello, Mr. Peredhil," he says politely in the tone of someone who's been taught just how to address someone, "Aragorn talks about you too." Elrond suppresses the smile, shakes his hand obligingly, and Legolas falls silent again. Aragorn, unflappable Aragorn, doesn't seem to mind the silence even as Elrohir and Elladan begin to fidget and edge to the door to the playground.

"I think my daddy forgot me," Legolas whispers, finally. He doesn't look away from where he's staring intently at his blocks. "He forgets a lot of things."

"I'm sorry to hear that." What else can Elrond say? He's certainly not going to tell a four year-old that he thinks his father is little better than a cockroach right now, everything else be damned. It's just not right.

Legolas goes quiet and this time when he gets ready to speak again, Elrond can see it in his face.

"Mama went away," he says, "For forever and I don't know why. Daddy used to cry a lot and now he works. A lot." Legolas fiddles with a block and Elrond finds himself reaching out to sling an arm around Aragorn's shoulders to pull him close. The need to touch is too strong to ignore. He remembers Elerrain, of course. There had never been someone so bright and musical; there had never been anyone else in the world who'd been able to give serious Thranduil such life.

And now she's gone and the only reason Elrond even knows is because her son's been forgotten at school.

He feels a little sick.

The door to the classroom slams open at five 'til seven and Legolas jumps half out of his skin, whipping around to stare at his father. Elrond follows his gaze and his heart sinks further.

Thranduil looks _terrible_. There are dark smudges under his eyes and he looks like he's on his feet through nothing more than sheer force of will, and when Legolas scrambles to his feet to barrel into his knees, he sways. Elrond doesn't know what he was expecting but it wasn't this. He was expecting something like resentment or arrogance, not this man who looks like he's carrying a thousand pounds.

Elrond's no fan of Thranduil by any means but a part of him understands how he feels even if they react entirely differently. More than that, he knows, there's also the matter of Legolas who currently has his face buried in Thranduil's slacks. The man's a wreck and it's like he can't even reach out to comfort his kid, like it's too much.

And Elrond understands, he does.

That understanding is why Elrond gets to his feet and approaches the pair of them.

"It's been a long time, Thranduil," he greets him.

"Peredhil," is all he gets in reply.

"I heard about Elerrain," Elrond says quietly, low enough that it doesn't get Aragorn's attention, "I'm so sorry."

"It is none of your concern." There's the bluster that Elrond knows. It's familiar because they've run in the same circles for years and Thranduil has yet to find him worthy and honestly, Elrond doesn't care. He doesn't care if he likes him or if they get along; they rarely work together and it's easy enough to avoid one another at parties.

But Elrond takes in the dark circles, the haggard look on his face, the way his hands tremble at his sides but don't reach out. He takes pity on him. He doesn't like Thranduil Greenleaf but no one deserves to hurt like that and no child deserves an absent parent when he's already lost one. Quite recently, in fact.

"Our children have become good friends," he goes on regardless of the imminent stoniness in Thranduil's eyes, "He is welcome in my home at any time."

"And what need would I have of—"

"Thranduil, you are shaking," Elrond points out and sees Elrohir freeze where he stands, his hand on the door where it's been since the moment the door to the classroom opened. "Perhaps it would be best for you to take the night off. It is no trouble and you _must_ take time for yourself. There's plenty of room and with four children, there's always extra things." Elrond's overstepping, very seriously overstepping, but he has to at least make the offer. Not that the offer's anything short of an order, and he leans in to say quietly, "Please consider it. Your son needs his father. You're all he has left; don't make him lose you too."

Thranduil goes entirely still, stiffens, and his eyes flash like he's about to say something sharp…and then that too fades away. He looks down because Legolas has buried his face in his knees. The tension sags out of his frame and it's obvious when he gives up, which says more about the state of him than anything else. For the first time since Elrond's met him, Thranduil sinks down to someone else's level, dropping to his knees and looking Legolas in the eyes.

"I'm sorry I was late," he says softly and rifles a hand through blonde hair stubbornly coming out of its braid.

Legolas chews on his lip, furrows his brow, and then slowly reaches out a hand to pat a slightly stubbly cheek.

"It's okay," he says eventually, "It's okay." Legolas makes a quiet eeping noise when Thranduil curls his arms around him to pull him into a crushing hug right there in front of all of them before pulling away, suddenly looking more composed.

"You're getting bigger, Legolas," Thranduil tells him too-casually and absently tries to straighten his son's hair, "You haven't had a sleepover yet." And that's the first indication that, _holy hell_¸ Thranduil Greenleaf is actually going to listen to someone else for the first time in his life. Thranduil straightens and looks down at Legolas who looks right back at him. "Do you remember my phone number?" The little boy rattles it off without hesitation. "And your address?" That too comes easily and Elrond looks down when he feels a pressure around his knees. Aragorn's tired of being left out of the loop and Elrond absently rubs his hair.

Thranduil then turns to Elrond and glowers at him.

"So help me god, if one _hair_—"

"It will be fine, Thranduil. Please go home and get some rest."

And surprisingly, that's that. Elrond calls for the twins and takes Aragorn by the hand, Legolas by the other, says good evening to Lindsay, and it's all that easy.

At least that's what he thinks until he realizes that the child he thinks is shy and quiet is, while still shy around everyone else, an absolute hellion and that there is a very good reason why he gets along so famously with his youngest son.

But he doesn't find out about that until later.

* * *

Aragorn considers this and the details haze vaguely together in his mind. He remembers it, sort of, though mostly he remembers being simultaneously excited to be at school at night and afraid of being forgotten. He doesn't remember the way Elrohir does, Elrohir who was old enough to notice the weight hanging on Legolas' stern, unbending father and probably old enough to pity. Aragorn remembers being excited for a sleepover, mostly, though he also remembers how long it takes to get Legolas to loosen up and smile after getting into an unfamiliar car and going to an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar people.

But then he remembers goading him into a pillow fight that lasts until Elrond's stomping up the stairs and he can hear Glorfindel's laughter downstairs, and he remembers being smacked repeatedly in the head with a pillow and he remembers Legolas' declaration that he was to be king of the universe and that Aragorn was a dirty rascal.

Aragorn thinks, then, that maybe their friendship didn't start just with a tower of blocks and a silent kid losing his temper.

Maybe it started with a pillow to the face instead.

* * *

AN2: SO. Please, please, please tell me what you think. Tell me if you liked it, tell me if you hated it. Tell me if you want to smack _me_ in the face instead. I don't care. Just tell me. (I hope you like it, though.)


End file.
